Hypnagogic Cocktails
by OP INTENSIFY
Summary: Igor entertains an unexpected arrival. (Persona 2/3/4/5)


Quiet was perhaps the most apt term to describe his current situation. The soft interior for which his abode had been named did an excellent job of suppressing noise to a more tolerable volume, though it also rendered the atmosphere a bit stifling at times, particularly when there was little sound being made. Silence became dominant, almost oppressive, in his small world lined with velvet. The only things that resounded with a sharp and clear presence were his own thoughts.

Considering the nature of his residence, they offered a small comfort. In a place between waking and dreaming, the mind is a linchpin.

The absence of polite conversation only deepened the silence. Perhaps he had grown too accustomed to the presence of an assistant. After all, he had once been the sole occupant of the Velvet Room. He was quite familiar with the concept of isolation, but now, in the brief span of solitude that marked the end and beginning of a contract, he found it quite disagreeable.

Looking up from the glass table, Igor ran his eyes across the lengthy limousine appearing positively pitiful being so devoid of passengers, himself notwithstanding. It had once been an elevator of plush walls and elegant grating, and before that a spacious ballroom, complete with grand piano. Every iteration hosted their own selection of assistants, all of them touched by delightful quirks and none any less companionable for them.

Nameless and Belladonna complemented one another beautifully, merging their talents note by note into a sublime experience. Igor rather missed their soft duets, though given the Velvet Room's subsequent transformations, he doubted there was sufficient space for a piano, and thus their departure was understandable from a practical standpoint.

Elizabeth and Theodore had not been so rational. Both assistants were quite taken with their respective guests, an unfortunate, but not wholly unexpected development. The wildcards had become fiercely intertwined with each golden-eyed youth, drawing them deeper into the web of tragedy Igor was helpless to avert. Despite their sorrow, he believed Elizabeth and Theodore's journeys would be to their benefit, however long they took to end.

He hoped the two met with a satisfactory conclusion, as he could not deny some inkling of attachment that had grown as they had.

Igor recalled Theodore being so timid and cautious, despite his insatiable curiosity, a hunger shared with his older sister. The time spent with his guest however had invested him with a greater reservoir of courage to pursue his desire, she foremost among them. His boldness in leaving behind the duties of assistant spoke volumes of his resolve, even if he could not bring himself to voice it aloud.

Elizabeth had been quite the opposite, shameless in her daring fascination with the world and even more thorough interest in her guest. Yet she was terribly scattered, so eager to experience all that she could in the shortest amount of time, often to the detriment of her acquaintances. To declare Elizabeth a handful would be inadequate in describing her audacious disposition. Igor found it a relief to see such focused and unwavering conviction in her eyes as she announced her departure. She understood the consequences of her decision, prepared to undertake a monumental task, not unlike the Fool she so admired.

It was with small pride he watched them grow.

Margaret was eldest among her siblings, and far more refined, though that did not make her transformation any less spectacular. She was frugal with her words, almost to a fault, withholding thoughts as a warden guards a prison. Yet the guest, with hair silver as her own, managed to free the lock she had in place, and the gates were flung open. Igor had never seen her so genuinely smile before that boy had signed his name upon their contract, and she wore it freely as something called her into the unknown.

Igor chuckled softly, leaning back into the cushion of his seat. He had grown too accustomed indeed. And though it caused him some discomfort, being so alone, he would not wish the outcome had been any different. In a strange sense they were the family he could never have, his children dressed in blue, and like all children, they left to find their own fortunes.

The truth is often bittersweet, and he savored both aspects.

He shifted in place, drawing a gentle hiss as the fabric of his suit slid across velvet. Leaning forward, Igor collected a spread of cards from the table before him, quickly shuffling them together. A fluttering stream of blue flowed from one hand to the other as he spread his arms, the soft clapping of laminated paper filling the air. With an expert hand Igor launched card after card across empty space, delighting in the light touch of their landing.

It was shame guests were so few and far between. Always seeking answers, yet lacking the time to ask questions, much less allowing him to perform slights of hand. Knowing so many tricks seemed so pointless without anyone to observe them.

Setting the deck down, Igor drew three cards, laying them side-by-side. He hummed while turning over the first.

Magician, upright.

He moved to the second, drawing a finger down its length before flipping the card.

Fortune, reversed.

Igor stared silently for a time, the sheen of plastic reflected in his bulging eyes.

He moved to turn the final tarot, but stopped his hand centimeters above the table.

The limousine's engine had softened to a soothing purr, barely audible through the layers of fabric that swaddled his transportation. The rolling fog outside his window had come to a complete stop, suspended perfectly in place. Igor pulled his hand away from the table to tap his chin in contemplation.

It was rather odd, to be collecting a guest so soon, and between assistants no less! He had expected the ride to run its course without interruption to his next destination, yet here he was, listening to an idle engine.

"Fascinating," he murmured.

He nearly blinked, turning away from the opaque figures swirling outside, upon finding a butterfly silently flapping through the Velvet Room. Its wings were a pitch black, like looking into hole without end, and the space around them seemed to pull inwards ever so slightly, as though the world might fall entirely into the their depths yet defiantly teetered upon the brink. Black flecks trailed in its wake, leaving small holes in the air that faintly grew the longer they fell. Igor likened the spectacle to acid being dripped on paper, and in some fashion perhaps it was; the span between consciousness and unconsciousness could be incredibly fragile at times.

The butterfly flitted around the table once, dancing just above his face as it made the first turn. A black speck landed on the tip of his nose and the flesh slowly bubbled away, leaving a shallow crater behind. Igor waved a hand to dispel the acrid stench assaulting his nostrils. He fought the urge to scratch the wound by pulling a kerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his watery eyes instead.

He heard a door open, and looked across the limousine to find the rude intruder had vanished, along with all traces of its passage. Instead, a man was stooping to fit his impressive height through the vehicle's entrance. His suit, sharp and narrow, was incredibly dark, nearly the same as the butterfly that had curiously disappeared. A fissure of red that tore its way up from navel to neck broke the empty black, ending in the stiff points of an open collar. Entering fully, the man shut the door behind him and took long, shuffling steps towards Igor. As he settled down, resting an elbow on the angular armrest and leaning back with a contented sigh, the limousine lurched into motion, clouds of fog once again slipping by.

The Velvet Room's newest arrival gave Igor a winning smile and crossed an ankle over the opposite knee.

"Lovely setup you have here. I'm not a fan of the color though; too drab."

Igor shrugged, remaining silent.

"Red could really liven up the atmosphere, a dash of life and excitement," he crooned, "especially when paired with this sumptuous aesthetic."

"I've never given it much thought."

"Of course not. There are much more important things to contemplate, particularly for someone in your position."

Igor's guest turned a lascivious gaze to the spread of cards on the table, his smile growing unpleasantly wide. "Though I think I've caught you in a moment of indulgence. Enjoying the break between jobs?"

"The interim has been quite relaxing, to say the least."

"I can imagine. So many children, all running around and poking their noses in places they hardly belong. Keeping track of them must be a nightmare. I suppose the possibility of global devastation is also distracting."

"An inconvenience," Igor conceded.

" _Inconvenience_ ," his guest rolled the word in his mouth like sour candy. "I couldn't think of a more appropriate term. No matter how close the world comes to ending it always seems to fall just shy of complete destruction. I suppose I have you to thank for that, hm?"

"Not entirely. I simply provide the tools. It is the Wildcards which conduct all necessary activities."

"True. But it can all be traced back to a source."

The guest paused, eyes wandering up and down the well-stocked bar. He pointed towards the row of glasses with a narrow finger. Igor waved a hand in response and his guest happily scooted forward.

"Can I get you anything?" His hands weaved between glassware, an occasional ring detailing his investigation.

"Whatever you are willing to share," Igor replied.

His guest found a selection of instruments and ingredients in short order. The act was wholly unnecessary. Igor presumed the fellow simply enjoyed putting on a show, however impractical it might be. Leaning back, his guest began tipping a small, red bottle into a large glass.

"As I was saying, it can all be traced back to a source. Humans don't normally manifest their psyches as a tangible force, they need a mediator."

"Indeed, and humanity's collective unconsciousness does not typically endanger the physical world."

The guest laughed as he added a rich, red liquid to his glass. Igor watched it splash over ice and splatter against the cup's walls.

"Well, we each like to tip the scales one way or another, otherwise the whole procession would be so pathetically boring. Speaking of which, how is the old dreamer?"

"Occupied, I'm sure."

"Heh. For someone so invested in dreams, he hardly sleeps."

Igor's guest fitted a metal cup over the glass at an angle before vigorously shaking it over one shoulder. Another pause disrupted their conversation as he devoted his attention to shaking the concoction. The sound of ice clacking together filled the gap between words. Moments later the guest seemed satisfied, bringing the simple mixer to a stop and pulling up two highball glasses. He filled both with fresh ice before bringing the heel of his palm sharply against the cup in his hand. The metal and glass came apart without a sound and he poured out his creation.

"Shame you don't have any pickles," he muttered. "Can't have everything, I guess."

The guest placed a tall, and very full, glass in front of Igor, then leaned back to take a sip from his own. He gave a loud sigh and smiled even wider.

"I love a Bloody Mary with a _bite_ , don't you?"

Igor issued a noncommittal hum.

Ignoring him, his guest took another sip. "Leave it to humans mastering the art of killing themselves in pursuit of pleasure. I knew a guy from New York – could mix _the_ best Bloody Maries. In fact, I _was_ him right up until a Porsche pinned the poor guy between its hood and a streetlamp."

As the guest spoke his face changed. Wrinkles were carved into skin while his nose grew a sharp bump on its bridge, and bushy eyebrows burst into being above tired, blue eyes.

"Funny thing about alcohol; you don't have to drink it to be killed by its effects."

And with that the foreign face vanished.

"A tragedy," Igor said with a nod.

"A beautiful tragedy," his guest agreed. "As fun as one or two deaths can be, I am glad your master took my bet. Gambling the fate of humanity has been a thrilling game. I hope he's still enjoying it as thoroughly as I am."

Igor's eyes brightened. "He is, immensely. Witnessing humanity triumph over its base desires has been a pleasure."

Their resilience was a sight to behold. That a mere handful of enlightened souls could spurn the gathered weight of mankind's repressed shadows was nothing short of marvelous.

His guest chuckled. "And therein lies its beauty. No matter how many times they succeed, all they accomplish is resettling the scales. The balance only needs to tip once against them and it all comes crashing down. Now _that_ was fun. Such a pity your master decided to renege our little wager at the time. Though I suppose I've never played fair either, so I can't condemn him entirely."

Igor tapped the side of his nose. "But what fun would there be once the game has ended?"

"None, which is why I have been rather hands-off in regards to our competition as of late. I'd hate to put away my favorite toys too soon."

His confession deeply unsettled Igor. While it was true the world had seen little in the way of terrible calamities, it was difficult to ignore the cost associated with salvation. His mind drifted to Elizabeth and Theodore, both hurt by the loss of their guests, and the great price the Fools paid for humanity's sake. Both instances were clear victories, to be sure, but again, bittersweet.

His guest seemed to understand Igor's inner musings and gave a knowing wink to match his now devilish smile. "Losing is not a terrible ordeal if you can walk away with a little something in your pocket. And to be honest, I enjoy the small victories; success is all the more sweet when it serves as a chaser to bitter defeat."

The malicious face morphed into a sad expression, blue hair unfurling from his skull. A pair of headphones appeared about his neck, followed by the muffled tones of an electric guitar spilling into the Velvet Room. Flesh twisted, and the hair lengthened, now a lustrous auburn. Red eyes twinkled in the soft light to the sound of a resonant giggle. His guest ran a hand over the painfully familiar attributes, wiping them away in the blink of an eye.

For the briefest moment, Igor's smile faltered.

"While I am not one to question company, I am curious as to why you are here."

The guest relaxed his smile and raised the glass in his hand. "I've felt the need to play my hand a little more directly. It's only fair the dreamer know my intentions."

A mercy in exchange for greater cruelties, Igor suspected.

"Try not to look so despondent, it's only a game after all. Their lives don't really matter."

Igor swayed slightly as the sedan decelerated. His guest felt it as well, a smile spreading from ear to ear.

"This must be my stop." He quickly downed what remained of his drink and set the empty glass on the bar. "I doubt we'll speak again in the near future, and so I wish you the very best of luck. It was an absolute pleasure meeting with you in the flesh."

The limousine rolled to a stop and his guest stood up as best he could in the Velvet Room's confined space.

"Farewell," Igor said.

His guest offered another wink and was gone. As the door shut, Igor looked down at his glass, empty as though it had never been filled. At the back of his mind he heard a mean-spirited laugh. Scratching his nose, now whole, he blew a languid sigh through his nostrils.

Lonely as his appointment could be, he was not desperate for just any company, least of all someone so frighteningly cruel. For once, he welcomed the silence.

He reviewed the events in his mind, examining every word, every gesture as best he could to detect any meaning that might otherwise have been overlooked. His guest intended to cause undue harm, that much was certain, but he found the level of focus on individuals rather odd. The uplifting or unfortunate destruction of humanity were the respective goals of his master and opposition's desires, not to mention the criteria that determined the victor of their wager. Had the world's death become a secondary objective? Had his master's counterpart altered the nature of his agenda? And to what end? Or had the means now become an end unto themselves?

A troubling notion.

As the Velvet Room jerked forward along its intended path, Igor remembered the cards he had drawn, and the final tarot still lying face down. With a weary sniff he flipped the card and was greeted by four quadrants of blue, red, yellow, and grey.

Temperance, upright.

Igor chuckled halfheartedly, the light returning to his eyes.

Perhaps there were great trials ahead, not only for his future guest, but himself as well. While not entirely thrilled by the prospect, it was nothing he couldn't overcome.

Perhaps, for once, he too was the Fool.

* * *

After a time, the limousine stopped, but this time there was no one to come aboard.

It was time to go.

Igor collected his cards, shuffling them into a neat deck and placing them in a pocket lining the interior of his jacket. He stretched his legs, working the stiffness from his joints with embarrassingly loud pops that sent a sheepish laugh bubbling up his throat. Brushing a lapel with one hand, he trailed the other along the velvet cushions of his soon-to-be former residence.

Looking back at the seat he had occupied for so long, he lingered by the door. Sorrowful lines pulled at Igor's smile.

"Farewell . . ."

Igor listened to his transportation vanish, the steady engine fading to nothing but a memory. The quiet did not last as a new sound entered his ears, soft as a butterfly's flapping wings. Two girls stepped into the corner of his vision, smoothly marching forward until coming together directly ahead. Arms clasped behind his back, Igor joined them.

The children were near identical – twins he guessed – sporting the same polished shoes, tailored uniforms, and stiff caps. Even the eye patches they wore, despite resting on different sides, formed a perfect mirror should the two be arranged face to face. Only their hair, gathered in two distinct styles, and the letters on their hats, marked a clear difference between them; one wearing a braid, the other a pair of buns.

A single set of eyes, shared between two faces, stared up at him. Igor stared back, not that he could do much besides that.

"You must be my new assistants."

One child stepped closer, hand extended. "Justine, sir."

"Why is he so old," the other asked.

" _Caroline_!"

"Well he is!"

Justine turned back to him, a penitent smile adorning her soft features. "Apologies, sir. My sister isn't the nicest to most people."

"I want to apologize too," Caroline announced, "for my sister being so stuck-up."

"Shut up! You never say anything nice!"

"At least when I talk I don't sound like a teacher's pet!"

Their argument quickly devolved into name calling as both voices grew in pitch and volume. Igor nearly wished the limousine would turn back to take him anywhere but the growing storm of youthful vitriol. Grinding his teeth, he took a step closer just as hats were converted to impromptu weapons.

"Caroline. Justine. Please… There is no need to fight presently, and I would be more then happy to continue your debate, but only once we're settled in our newest residence. For now, let's focus on preparing the Velvet Room."

Justine responded with a sharp nod. "Yes, sir!"

Caroline muttered something under her breath that sound suspiciously similar to an insult aimed at a resplendently long nose.

Igor raised a lengthy eyebrow and leveled his gaze at the offending child.

She heaved a sigh before snapping off a quick salute. "Yes. . . sir."

Satisfied by her willingness to cooperate, even if it was grudging, Igor selected a direction at random.

"Come. We have much work to do, and less time to do it."

* * *

Their footsteps echoed in the chamber as they approached the desk. The floor was clean, near spotless, and glistened like polished stone. Had he the desire to, Igor could have skated from end to end without needing to propel himself forward more than once. Looking down, he saw his reflection gazing back up, only broken by the gaps between tiles.

The desk itself was carved from good wood, thick and sturdy, a rust-red in coloration. The chair behind it was black with a tall back, and it gave no sound as Igor sat down. His twin assistants took up positions on opposing sides of the wooden furniture, Justine standing straight, and Caroline with arms crossed, a moody frown darkening her face.

"Now then. . . let us begin."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did a loud grunt echo from a distant cell. The panicked cries that followed were nearly enough to make Igor laugh.

As the twins moved away to flank their captive audience, Igor spread his hands, putting on his best smile.

"Welcome. . . to the Velvet Room."


End file.
